


Roulette

by RyMagnatar



Series: Playing with Guns [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Implied Murder, Implied adultry, M/M, Shooting people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/RyMagnatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your boyfriend locks himself up for nearly a week to refurbish an older gun, you can get pretty bored. The ways you keep yourself entertained were never supposed to have consequences like this. It hadn't even crossed your mind until too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roulette

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you use the towel draped around your bare shoulders to dab at your forehead while you sip from a chilled bottle of apple juice. You are five minutes from going to take a shower, having just returned from a run on the beach, when he appears from somewhere in the apartment- probably his little study room.

  
He looks worn down to the bone, ragged and tired. His fingertips stained inky black and his hair out of place. He leans one shoulder against the doorway and stares at you, blinking slowly.

  
”About time you came out. Welcome to the world of the living.” You look him over again more closely. He could probably use a shower more than you could at the moment but for as long as he’s been locked up in his study (five days, sixteen hours and thirty two minutes by the way) you haven’t even been able to touch him, so he looks pretty appetizing to your eyes. What can you say? He’s a perfectionist and you love to see him disheveled.

  
He grunts and pulls his other hand from behind his back. In it he holds a black handled silver barreled gun. It was smooth, polished steel. Nearly six days ago you had seen it, a rusted piece of crap he was determined to fix. Now he swings it around his finger and then snaps it into his palm. He flicks open the chamber and pulls a single bullet out of his pocket. He pops it into one of the empty chambers and shuts it with a flick of his wrist. Spinning the chamber he begins to walk towards you, a dangerous light in his eyes.

  
Your heart leaps in your chest. To him this is a game. It’s all a very dangerous, very sexy game. He gives a quirk of the lips, his teasing smile as he says the words, “Wwant to see howw much luck Vvris has today?” The chamber clicks to a stop and he stands easily in front of you. Lifting one arm he drops his hand onto your shoulder and his claws prickle across your sweat slick skin.

“Sure.” But you aren’t. Not this time. Something feels off.

Wrong.

There is something wrong today.

Something in the way the cold tip of the gun slides over your throat and presses against your jugular vein. Something in the way his claws dig a little too deeply into your skin, adding blood to your sweat and making the salt sting your wound. Something in his violet eyes that glimmer too brightly as he leans in, despite how desperately exhausted he looks.

Something in the way he looks at you.

Like his eyes are saying  _you’ve gone and fucked it up and this is what you get for it._

This time, when the gun presses against your flesh it isn’t arousing or hot or even a little kinky. It’s just

Frightening.

Someone has replaced your boyfriend with a shark in a grease stained shirt and gunhandle calloused fingers. His eyes are dark as the sky and are swallowing you like a black hole, twisted up so tightly that they devour your thoughts, your breath, your everything. Your hand shakes ever so slightly as you lift it to place it in the center of his chest.

His heart flutters quickly under your fingers. Great. Either Rose’s eldergods have pulses or whatever is inside of Eridan is all him.

“Should wwe play wwith all six chambers, three apiece, or fivve? All for you?”  
He tilts his head to the side, looking at you like he knows something.

Something more than the way your heart is pounding in your throat. _Fuck_  him. A small frown is all you need to show as by way of expression. He wants to play with his own life too?

What the hell was going on here?

Your hand on his chest moves to his and you grip it tightly. “No. I changed my mind. No game.”

He has the fucking nerve to pout at you. Pout at you like he’s the six year old birthday boy and you are yanking away his fucking cake at the last second to replace it instead with a bowl of overcooked spinach; can’t have your cake until you eat your spinach, kiddo! “No game.” you repeat yourself, pushing his hand away from your neck. It goes easily and he leans in all smiles and cuddles.

He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses soft little tame things down your cheek and chin and across your lips and nose. You wrinkle your nose and huff softly when he kisses your earlobe gently. “Showwer time?”

“Sounds good,” You murmur, shoulders relaxing and eyes closing for one brief, thankful moment. He flits another cool kiss to the corner of your mouth and then pulls away. He holds the gun limply in his hands, smiling at you with none of his teeth. You chug the rest of your drink, toss it across the room in a perfect arch and smirk when it bounces off the rim of the trashcan and into the bottom of it. He laughs and you head out of the kitchen. At the doorway, the one he had leaned against just moments ago, you notice he isn’t following you.

He looks down at the gun in his fingers, flipping open the chamber. You give a little smile, thinking he’ll take the bullet out, disarm the weapon and then he- _fuckfucknowhatishedoing?!_

Five more bullets slide into the gun in quick succession. He lifts the gun, clicking it into place. His eyes are a ingots of violet and his smile shows all his goddamn teeth as he says, “Davve? Remember howw many of your quadrants belong to me?”

“Uh.” You’re across the room but that gun seems so fucking close. You’re a sword guy, even after all this time with him. There’s that fraction of a second when you, like most people, are staring down at a gun and all you can think is holy shit that is a gun pointed at my face _fuck fuck shit is this guy willing to actually shoot me?_

You don’t have to look at him to know he is. You’ve seen the scar around his hips. You’ve seen the one in the middle of Rose’s number one fan.

You’ve seen the one through the chest of the fucking heiress herself.

Back he draws the hammer. “Wwrong answwer,” says his lips.

You’re flashstepping before you realize it, but he’s already fired off a shot. A bullet, hot and painful, sears along the outside of your shoulder. From your strifespecibus out comes your half a sword- a gift from this fucker right here the one that stares at you with such unbridled possession and anger- and in a moment you are in front of him. You twist to the side just in time to miss another bullet, but you don’t avoid the hand that coils around the towel on your neck and yanks.

You stumble forward, just a half-step, just enough that when he brings the pistol down behind your ear it connects with a crack and your head rings like all the alarms in the world are going off just inside your eardrums. That isn’t enough to stop you from attacking him. He hisses in Alternian, a curse you are ever so familiar with- and not just from him- and you smirk when you see violet running down the metal.

Flinging his arm out to the side he sends you slamming into the cabinets. He drops the towel and shoves his arm up right against your throat. The gun presses against your upper arm, close to the top of your shoulder. “Davvey,” he purrs, licking his lips. “Wwhat wwas it that wwe decided? Oh. Right. I havve all your quadrants.” His purr is replaced with a snarl as he fires a shot into your arm, through it, into the cabinets behind. “I havve them red,” your sword drops from your suddenly very numb fingers. Your heart is in the back of your mouth.

“I havve them pale,” the gun goes off again and the only reason you don’t drop down from the effect of the hole in your goddamn thigh is because of his arm.

“I havve them ashen,” he shifts enough and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly as now both legs are dripping blood. You can feel cold air against parts of you that should never feel any air at all. You reach up with your last hand and grab the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t,” you whisper but he just runs over your words with his own.

“And I havve them goddamn black.” Your hand drops down to your side as his gun rips a hole in your  other arm. He steps back, hand off your towel and watching as you slide down the wall and crumple onto the ground in front of him. You have been stabbed before, several times, and once actually into your liver. But this is worse, this is so much fucking worse.

You look up at his face, blank as the cloud covered skies outside and you hate him more than you have hated anything in the world. He stands there calmly, eyes on yours as he pops out the spent rounds and slides one more bullet in.

He gives it a spin, chuckling softly. “Hold tight lovve, I’m goin’ to go see a motherfucker and ask him to play a little fuckin’ game wwith me.” Then he’s striding out of the kitchen with all the swagger in the world.

Alone in the kitchen, before you try to bandage yourself or even move to get help, you lean your head back against the wall and let out a little dry sob.

“Fuck,  _fuck, **fuck**_ …”


End file.
